


The Light

by MizLizzy



Series: MizLizzy's Hopes and Dreams for Sherlock & John [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pining, Sad, Sherlock Holmes & John Watson Friendship, Terminal Illnesses, True Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-05
Updated: 2015-02-05
Packaged: 2018-03-10 15:37:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3295697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizLizzy/pseuds/MizLizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John gets devastating news about his wife. When coping with the feelings of sadness and grief, he ends up where his feet often take him: 221B Baker Street. Post-HLV, just a little one-off story about the depth of love and friendship between these two.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Light

**Author's Note:**

> This might become part of a larger work that I have been toying with. Just putting it up here because I felt like sharing.

John left the clinic that afternoon and began walking, as if on auto-pilot. He really needed to sort out his feelings and decide what the best course of action would be. As usual, that involved a brisk walk. Without even realizing, he found himself standing in front of the black door of 221b. He opened the door and heard the last few notes of a contemporary song drift down the stairs towards him. Sherlock never listened to modern music, let alone so loudly, so John was intrigued.

As he mounted the stairs, his steps feeling as heavy as his heart, he heard another song start. A Todd Rundgren song -- one of his favorites, actually –started playing.

_It was late last night_  
 _I was feeling something wasn't right_  
 _There was not another soul in sight_  
 _Only you, only you_

He stood in the open doorway of the flat and looked at Sherlock. He had pulled his chair to the center of the room, back against the desk and facing away from the windows. He had his feet propped up on John’s chair, directly in front of him. His body was slouched in the chairs, his head tossed back carelessly. His eyes were closed, his curls were unkempt, and he loosely held a glass of scotch in one hand. The windows were open, and a soft breeze moved the curtains and lightly moved Sherlock’s hair. Without even recognizing he was thinking it, it occurred to John that this might be one of the most beautiful things that he had ever seen. He just stood there, drinking in the sight of the only true friend he’d ever known, and for some reason felt a lump in his throat.

_So we walked along_  
 _Though I knew that there was something wrong_  
 _And a feeling hit me, oh so strong_  
 _About you_

_Then you gazed up at me_  
 _And the answer was plain to see_  
 _'Cause I saw the light_  
 _In your eyes, in your eyes_

  
Sherlock opened his eyes and locked gazes with John. He said nothing, and returned the look in silence.

_Though we had our fling_  
 _I just never would suspect a thing_  
 _Till that little bell began to ring_  
 _In my head, in my head_

_But I tried to run_  
 _Though I knew it wouldn't help me none_  
 _'Cause I couldn't ever love no one_  
 _Or so I said_

_'Cause my feelings for you_  
 _Were just something I never knew_  
 _Till I saw the light_  
 _In your eyes, in your eyes_

John felt a tightness in his chest, as feelings he had fought down for so long were warring to come to the surface. Tears were threatening, he felt that something was happening at that moment; words were being spoken without either of them uttering a sound. Sherlock took a drink of his scotch with his right hand, and brought his left hand up and held it there, as if beckoning. John slowly walked into the room. He stopped beside Sherlock’s chair and, gazing out the front window, reached down and took Sherlock’s hand in his. They stood that way in silence, listening to the last refrains of the song.

_But I love you best_  
 _It's not something that I say in jest_  
 _'Cause you're different, girl, from all the rest_  
 _In my eyes_

_And I ran out before_  
 _But I won't do it anymore_  
 _Can't you see the light in my eyes_  
 _In my eyes_  
 _In my eyes_  
 _In my eyes_

The song ended, and John looked down into Sherlock’s face. The detective sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. “When I was trapped in Belarus for some time while I was ‘away’, my captors played contemporary music constantly. I think once they realized I detested it, they made more of an issue of it in an effort to mentally torture me. So, I would retreat to my mind palace, and I spent a lot of time thinking about you. Thinking about what you might be doing at that moment. Wondering if you missed me. Because I missed your presence every single moment. All I wanted to do was survive the ordeal and get back here to London and my only friend. My gracious hosts didn’t have a huge selection of music, so I heard a lot of Todd Rundgren as I languished there. I remembered that you liked him, so I decided to listen and try to figure out why you appreciated his music. It might have been Stockholm Syndrome,” he chuckled, “But I really think I started to enjoy the music because it was a way to feel connected with you, with home. Especially this song, John. It’s so simple, and yet it has a depth of feeling in the simplistic lyrics. There is some merit to keeping things short and sweet, but it really seems like I am not capable of doing that…” his voice drifted into the silence. He took a deep breath, and let it out in a long sigh.

John stood in silence for a few long moments, stroking his thumb along Sherlock’s hand. When he finally spoke, his voice was breaking. “Mary’s tests came back. She has cancer. It’s advanced, Stage 4. Inoperable. She’s going to die, Sherlock.” The tears that had threatened to fall, began to trickle down the careworn face.

Sherlock squeezed John’s hand. He sat up, placed his feet on the floor and turned himself toward John. He placed John’s hand in both his own, leaned forward and held them against his forehead and closed his eyes. He murmured quietly, “I’m so sorry, John. What must we do? Tell me everything, I want to help in any way.” He looked up into John’s devastated face. “Please, I want to help you both.”

John’s knees gave way, and he knelt in front of Sherlock. He placed his other hand in Sherlock’s, and laid his head against Sherlock’s leg. As he sobbed silently, Sherlock held John’s hands with one hand, and laced the other one through John’s hair, as he imagined he would like someone to do to him. There is nothing he would not do for John Watson. In turn, there was nothing he would not do for Mary, or their daughter. This man, who was baring his soul to Sherlock in a way that would be so very difficult for Sherlock himself to do, moved him in ways that were wondrous, uncontrollable and frankly terrifying. He had shown Sherlock how to feel again. He had shown Sherlock what was truly important. Sherlock returned from the dead with the sole objective of doing anything to prevent John Watson from ever being hurt again. He had planned to spend the rest of his life trying to protect this man’s heart from further pain. It was the least he could do to atone for what he had done. But now he saw that his intentions, however honorable they were, were not always going to work out the way he hoped. There are some things that Sherlock was powerless to prevent. If he couldn’t shield John from this hurt, at least he could support him in every way possible.

 


End file.
